


Daddy Issues

by the_100_sin_bin_1985



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Age Difference, Daddy Issues, Daddy Kink, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Incest Kink, Not ACTUAL Incest Because He's Not Really Her Stepdad But It's In That Vicinity, Sexual Fantasy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-28
Updated: 2019-01-28
Packaged: 2019-10-18 05:13:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17574563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_100_sin_bin_1985/pseuds/the_100_sin_bin_1985
Summary: S5 post-finale AU: it’s Abby who’s still in cryo recovering from Vinson’s attack. The surgery she’ll need requires two doctors, and Clarke doesn’t trust herself enough to help Jackson on her own; they need to find a healer on the planet’s surface with Jackson’s level of surgical skills. In the meantime, she’s stable in her cryopod, but can’t be woken up yet.Clarke and Kane are drawn together in their shared worry and feelings of missing her, but soon the new intimacy between them - helped along by a neck massage, a shared bed, a panic attack, and Clarke's unresolved daddy issues with Jake - help them find an unexpected new way to comfort each other.





	Daddy Issues

**Author's Note:**

> from the 2019 kink meme!
> 
> ORIGINAL PROMPT: "Clarke’s daddy issues show on the new planet, Kane’s more then happy to help her"

It begins quite innocently.  
  
The first landing mission is small – just Clarke, Bellamy, Echo, and Emori. Two days, no more, just to run some tests on the soil and water. Raven’s detected clusters of life signs and begun to map out the cities and villages on this continent, but they’ve decided against human contact until they have a better sense of the lay of the land.  
  
Clarke’s on her way to the deck of the landing ship, when she hears footsteps behind her and a voice calling her name. She turns to see Kane holding the knapsack she now realizes she left at her mom’s bedside.  
  
“You forgot your lunch,” he says, tossing it to her, and a warm, nostalgic smile breaks over her face. “What?”  
  
“My dad used to do that,” she tells him.  
  
“Do what?”  
  
“Pack my lunch for me.”  
  
Kane smiles back. “That sounds like him,” he says, and it gives Clarke a warm little glow as she descends down the ladder of the landing ship. “Travel safe,” he calls after her.  
  
There are so few people left in the whole human race who knew her father. It’s like a piece of home traveling along with them. Even with her mother in stasis, there’s someone here who holds onto so many of the same memories. It’s not perfect, but it’s something.

* * *

It becomes a running joke between them, after that. Before every trip, she lets him pack her knapsack. Protein bars, emergency blankets, flashlights. She doesn’t actually _need_ him to, it’s not like he has some special knowledge she lacks, he does it exactly the way she’d do it herself. But it’s the gesture. It’s knowing there’s one less thing for her to do because someone is taking care of her.  
  
Aboard the Eligius ship, everyone is busy. They haven’t woken everyone yet, only essential personnel, since the food stores on board will only sustain a small group. This means there are only twenty or so people doing all the work of keeping the ship running, mapping the territory, and strategizing their next moves. Bellamy, Echo and Emori are the scouts, reporting from the ground to Raven and Kane. Clarke is tired all the time, anxious all the time, worried about her mother and overwhelmed by this new planet. And Bellamy has too much weight on his shoulders right now for her to feel comfortable asking him for more support than he’s already giving. (He hasn’t woken Octavia yet, and neither Clarke nor Kane can get him to answer when, or if, he’s going to.)  
  
So it’s nice, having someone to take the little things off her plate - like making sure her bag is always packed, and she always has clean clothes. All the things Dad used to do, when Mom was working.  
  
They didn’t necessarily plan on becoming roommates, it sort of happens by accident. There aren’t enough staterooms on the ship for everyone on board (another compelling argument in favor of leaving most of the population in stasis for now). Jackson moves Abby’s cryopod to Med Bay, where he can check on her more regularly. There’s only one bedroom in that hallway, and it’s very plainly meant to belong to the ship’s doctor, so they all come to think of it as Abby’s room, even though she isn’t in it. Both Clarke and Kane feel a natural claim to it, and neither feel comfortable sleeping on the other side of the ship where the other staterooms are; in the end, they surrender the argument, pull a cot from storage to the foot of the bed, and take turns. Kane takes the bed when Clarke’s on field missions. When they’re both on the ship, they alternate – one in the bed, and one on the cot.  
  
It’s soothing, falling asleep to the warm sound of someone else's breathing. He doesn’t snore, like Jake did, but there’s still something achingly familiar about it. She always sleeps well, even in the hard, uncomfortable cot, when Kane is there too.

Clarke is surprised how easily she gets used to sharing space with him, how many memories it brings back. Coming home from school as a kid to find her dad watching television or reading on the couch. She’d toss her backpack on a chair, Jake would give her a Dad Look and tell her to put it away, then he’d make her a cup of tea and ask her how her day was before she sat down to her homework.  
  
She develops a strangely similar relationship with Kane, over those first few weeks. Returning from a field mission to see him reading in bed, or sitting at the small metal table in their quarters with maps spread out before him. Conversation is easy, with him, in a way she wouldn’t have expected from the Kane she knew on the Ark. He asks lots of questions about the planet’s surface – he hasn’t been down there yet himself – but he defers to her judgments and assessments. This must be what he was like when her mother was Chancellor, she thinks; steady and reliable and ready to listen.  
  
She’s home from her fourth surveying trip when things between them first begin to change.

* * *

They’d had a rough descent – not Emori’s fault, the landing gear was glitchy, though she’d felt terrible about it – and the impact jarred all of them. Jackson insists on checking everyone out upon their return, despite their unanimous, impatient protestations that they’re all fine.  
  
Clarke is not fine, though she tells Jackson she is. She’d tensed up during the turbulence and the landing sent a jolt through her whole body that caused a horrific cramp in her neck. But Jackson’s their only doctor, and it feels petty to bother him with something like this, so once he’s cleared her of the risk of concussion she bails out of Med Bay and back to her room before he can ask her any more questions.  
  
Kane spots it almost immediately, the minute she walks in the door. He’s reading in bed, and even in the room’s dim light – illuminated only by one crappy bedside lamp – he can tell she’s carrying herself differently.  
  
“What happened?” he says instantly, book forgotten, rising from the bed and making his way over to her. “Are you okay?”  
  
She waves him off, dropping her knapsack on the chair and attempting to wrestle out of her jacket with a wince. “Rough landing,” she says with forced casualness. “I’m fine.”  
  
“No, you aren’t,” he says, with the weary patience of a man more than accustomed to prodding through the instinctive defenses of Griffins. “You’re hurt.”  
  
“It’s not serious. It’s just a muscle cramp. I’m okay.”  
  
He watches her, arms folded, a trace of amusement in his eyes, as she desperately struggles to get her jacket off, muttering in pain at every movement, before giving in.  
  
“Oh, fine,” she snaps impatiently. “You win. My neck is killing me. Can I get a little help?”  
  
He crosses over to her wordlessly, gently pulling the jacket off her shoulders and sets it on the chair. “Sit,” he says firmly, giving her no other option, so she drops into the low-backed metal chair as he moves to stand behind her, his warm hands settling onto her shoulders and neck.  
  
He’s good at this, really really good, the gun calluses on his fingers pleasantly rough against her skin, his fingers impossibly strong yet gentle. He identifies the source of the pain immediately, easily accessible to him above the low scooped back of Clarke’s tank top – somewhere above her shoulderblades, where the muscles wrap over to her collarbone. He starts off carefully, prodding with light touches until he feels her wince and shudder, and then concentrating firmer strokes at the most urgent spots.  
  
“My dad used to do this,” she says drowsily, leaning back, eyes closed, and he’s standing so close to her that the crown of her head touches the slope of his stomach.  
  
“Abby told me,” he says. “I’m not as experienced at it as Jake was.”  
  
“No, this is perfect,” she tells him, exhaling a long slow sigh of pleasure as his thumbs caress the knots out of her neck. “You’re doing great.”  
  
There’s a silence after this, but a silence with something in it, as though Kane wants to say something but isn’t sure how.

Clarke feels warm, languid, feeling the cramped muscles in her back slowly soften and relax under Kane’s powerful hands, and she closes her eyes, sinking back wearily against him. It’s a long moment before he speaks again.  
  
“I’m sorry I’m not him,” he says hesitantly, and Clarke freezes. “For both of you. I know you wish it was him. I’m sorry it’s just me. That you only have me.”  
  
Clarke pulls away from his touch enough to turn around and meet his eyes. There’s a kind of raw pain there she hasn’t seen before. “Kane, what are you talking about?”  
  
“You need your father,” he says simply. “I’m not him. I can’t measure up to him. I want to be able to be what you need – for both of you – and sometimes I just . . .” He halts suddenly, looking away from her. “I’m sorry I’m not enough,” he says in a low voice, and it breaks something inside her.  
  
She rises from the chair and steps around it to let her arms encircle his chest. “We’re all just doing the best we can with what we’ve got,” she tells him. “You’re doing okay, Kane. I promise.”  
  
“I just want to take care of you,” he whispers, his arms encircling her, and Clarke dissolves against his chest. She hasn’t been held by a man like this since she lost her father. Being held by Marcus Kane feels so much like being held by Jake Griffin – big, powerful arms, a solid chest with a hint of paternal softness to it, a warm male scent – that she feels tears well up in her eyes.  
  
“You do,” she tells him, burrowing closer, feeling the thrum of his heartbeat where her cheek rests against his t-shirt. “You are. I didn’t realize how much I missed it.” His hands are warm and soothing, stroking up and down her back, holding her close, bearing all her weight, giving her permission to let go. “It was always Dad, who did this with me,” she says. “He was always the one who tucked me in at night, who made my school lunches, who cuddled with me on the couch. Mom was working so much, when I was little she wasn’t always around, and sometimes I feel like I didn’t really know her at all until we came to Earth.”  
  
“You had to rebuild your whole relationship with each other,” he says, nodding, because of course this requires no explanation. He was right there. “But it was easier with Jake, I think. It was always easy to be around Jake.”  
  
“And he was big, which made a difference. I was only twelve by the time I outgrew Mom. Sometimes you just want to be held by someone bigger and stronger than you are.”  
  
“Your dad made you feel safe,” says Kane, comprehending instantly, and she nods. “I was three-quarters of an inch taller than Jake all through school, I’ll have you know,” he tells her wryly. “If that helps.”  
  
“You feel like him,” she says happily, closing her eyes and breathing him in. “When you hold me.”  
  
“Abby said that to me once,” he says, then stops himself. “Though of course . . . that was different.”  
  
He doesn’t elaborate, but a warm flush sweeps across Clarke’s face.  
  
_Oh._ Of course.  
  
There’s a story here about the kind of men her mother finds attractive that Clarke doesn’t want to delve into too deeply, but it’s now impossible to escape the realization that Abby also takes pleasure in the way the two men’s bodies are so similar.  
  
Kane lets go and steps back from her, carefully breaking both the tension and the moment by giving them both some space.  
  
“I’ll take the cot tonight,” he says without looking at her. “You should have a real bed, when you’re injured.”  
  
“My shoulder feels a ton better.”  
  
“Still. Just to be on the safe side.”  
  
“You hate the cot,” she points out. “It’s too short for you. You have to sleep all cramped up.”  
  
“I’ll be fine.”  
  
“Compromise,” she insists. “It’s a double bed. We can just share it.” Kane looks shocked at the notion, which she finds endearing. “Didn’t you ever do that with your parents, when you were little?” she asks him.  
  
“When I was five, maybe. When I had a bad dream. Not in my twenties.”  
  
“Pretend I had a bad dream, then,” she says reasonably. “If that helps you.”  
  
“You’re not a little girl, Clarke,” he says in a low voice, with something inside it that she can’t read, something that seems to sizzle in the space between them and raise the temperature in the room. When she meets his eyes, they’re dark and unfamiliar and strange, and heat blooms through her whole body.

To distract herself, Clarke makes her way over to the bed, sheds her boots, and after a moment’s hesitation, her jeans as well, climbing into the bed in just her panties and tank top.  
  
Kane doesn’t watch.  
  
They’re very polite and careful with each other, the handful of times they’ve had to change clothes with the other in the room. It’s never registered with her particularly before, but she’s hypersensitized to it now. She’s aware of the care he takes to avert his eyes, the way he holds his body taut with his back toward her, the way he remains frozen until he can hear her burrow under the blankets and knows it’s safe to turn around.  
  
“Well?” she says impatiently. He doesn’t move.  
  
“Clarke,” he finally says, after a long hesitation. “Are you . . . is this because you feel guilty about giving me the cot, or –"  
  
“I want you to hold me,” she interrupts him, the words tumbling out of her mouth before she can stop herself, and she’s mortified as soon as they land, but they seem strangely to be a relief to Kane. Like he suddenly knows what to do with this. He nods, sits down on the edge of the bed to pull off his boots and socks, and then turns his back away from her as he unzips his jeans and they drop to the floor. His gray cotton shorts are a little more modest than her threadbare panties, so he’s less self-conscious about his own bared skin than he was about glimpsing her own; she’s seen him in his shorts and t-shirt before. But there’s a strange new electricity to it now, Clarke can’t quite put a name to it, except that she’s experiencing an uncontrollable need to feel his body swallow her up entirely. She wants to be a tiny child cradled against her father’s chest as he lifted her sleepy body from the sofa and carried her to bed. She wants to be soft and small and cherished, in the arms of someone warm and strong who can be a wall between her and the world.  
  
She thinks she understands it now, what Mom loves so much about this man. She didn’t get it at first. The Marcus Kane of the Ark was so hard and cold. But this Marcus Kane is different. Just as powerful, but also kind.  
  
He’s so much more like Jake Griffin than Clarke would ever have thought.  
  
When he climbs into the bed beside her, she thinks he’s going to lie stiffly on his side of the mattress and radiate discomfort, but he doesn’t. He curls his body effortlessly around hers, draping an arm over her waist, pulling her into his arms, his chest warm against her back.  
  
She sleeps better than she has in years.

* * *

They fall into a rhythm of this, and each night it feels more and more natural to climb into bed together and let Marcus Kane hold her body in his warm, powerful arms. She dreams of her father, sometimes. She lets herself miss him, in ways she hadn’t before, when she felt she had to be strong for everybody else. United by their shared worry for Abby, they grow closer and closer together – a family of two, waiting for their third member to rejoin them and make them complete.  
  
It’s after a week or so of sharing the bed that Clarke wakes in the middle of the night to a strange, unfamiliar sensation, and realizes suddenly that there’s a sharp weight pressing against her hip. She blushes furiously, grateful for the dark so Marcus can’t see her. He’s sound asleep, arms still draped over her, and she’s sure it means nothing, but it becomes impossible to avoid the thought that he’s been alone for a long time. 125 years, give or take, plus several months on both sides of it.  
  
She wonders if he’s ever made himself come in this bed while she’s down on the ground. Or if he does it in the shower.  
  
She wonders, with a guilty blush, what exactly he meant when he said Mom told him he felt the same as Dad did.  
  
She wonders if this has happened every night, and this is the first time she’s noticed.  
  
She wonders what he’s dreaming about right now.  
  
It’s impossible to fall asleep after that. Kane’s erection subsides, eventually, but Clarke can’t stop thinking about it.

* * *

She’s hesitant around him the next day, not quite distant, but more than usually alert. She wonders if he knows, or if he knows she knows. But he’s perfectly ordinary all day long; nothing between them seems to have changed, or at least it hasn’t on his side.  
  
Clarke, on the other hand, feels like she’ll never be able to look at him the same way again.  
  
It’s all confused in her mind, somehow, this tangle of dad memories and Marcus sensations and Mom-related guilt, and she copes with it by avoiding him most of the day until bedtime. He’s already half asleep, with the lights out, when she returns to the room, but as soon as he feels her body beside him he drowsily shifts his weight to spoon her and drape his arm over her hips, just like before.  
  
“Night,” he mumbles into her hair.  
  
“Goodnight,” she says, staring out into the darkness, convinced she’ll never fall asleep.  
  
But she does – she must – because otherwise she’d never have had the nightmare.  
  
It comes on fast and brutal, so vivid that it’s like she’s right back there, watching it happen all over again. The opening of the airlock, the cold vacuum hiss, the look on her father’s face, smiling at her until the very last, before gravity disappeared and he became nothing but a small white shape yanked away from them and thrown out into the stars.  
  
She sits bolt upright in bed, gasping for breath, tears stinging her eyes, and instantly he’s there.  
  
“You’re okay,” he whispers, wrapping her up in his arms, stroking her back, kissing her hair. “It was just a dream. That’s all. Whatever it was. You’re safe. I’ve got you. You’re okay.”  
  
“I couldn’t save him,” she whispers, and from the sharp intake of his breath she realizes she doesn’t have to say any more. Marcus knows exactly what she means.  
  
She wonders if Mom has these dreams too.  
  
“Let me take care of you,” he murmurs to her, his voice low and deep, sending shivers through her body. He lays her back gently against the pillows, propped up on one elbow, stroking her hair with his other hand. Tender and strong at once.  
  
Safe, and dangerous.  
  
“Yes,” she whispers, looking up at him. “I want you to.”  
  
“What do you need?” he asks softly. “How can I help?”  
  
“There was a way he used to hold me,” she murmurs, “when I was scared, when I couldn’t sleep –"  
  
“Show me what to do,” he says, and she does.  
  
Kane sits up, back braced against the metal headboard, and Clarke moves into his lap, her ass resting against the mattress between his parted thighs, her legs draped over his, her head resting against his shoulder. She’s too tall now, of course, for it to be exactly the same, but it’s enough for now. Kane cradles her tight with one arm while the other runs soothing, gentle strokes up and down her bare thigh, relaxing her, driving the anxiety and fretfulness away, leaving only warmth and comfort in its wake.  
  
She’s beginning to think she could drift off to sleep like this when she shifts to lean in closer to him and feels that sharp press against her hip again.  
  
This time, he’s wide awake.  
  
This time, neither of them can hide from it, and Clarke realizes with a wicked shock that she doesn’t want to.  
  
She shifts closer, deliberately, nudging it. Kane hisses a sharp, startled intake of breath, and then he can’t look at her anymore.  
  
“Maybe we’d better –" he begins, but she cuts him off, reaching up to let her fingertips brush against the scruff of his beard.  
  
“You said you’d take care of me, Daddy,” she whispers, and at the sound of that last word, all the air goes out of the room.

“Clarke,” he whispers hoarsely, closing his eyes as she strokes his beard, letting her thumb trace his lower lip. “Clarke, I can’t . . . we can’t . . ."  
  
“Daddy, please,” she whimpers, reveling in the electric power the word has over him, the way it knocks him sideways, makes him physically flinch. He doesn’t want to want it. He doesn’t want to beg her to say it again. But she can feel it in every muscle of his body.  
  
She turns and shifts her weight, still cradled in his grasp, until she’s kneeling between his thighs, her face even with his. Reflexively, as though he can’t help it, he clamps his arms tightly around her back, holding her close. She cups his cheeks in her hands.  
  
“I used to do this, with his beard,” she whispers, letting her fingertips brush against the scruff. “You have more, though.”  
  
“Clarke, don’t.”  
  
“He used to hold me like this.”  
  
“No, he didn’t,” Marcus says hoarsely. “He was a good man. He would never let himself hold his daughter the way I’m holding her now. Thinking the things that I’m thinking.”  
  
“What are you thinking?” she asks him, caressing his cheeks, but he doesn’t answer.  
  
“Once, when I was little,” she goes on, “I saw the way Mom kissed him and tried to do it too. He laughed and pushed me away and gave me a pat on the head and said little girls aren’t supposed to kiss their daddies that way.”  
  
“They aren’t,” says Marcus in a low, raspy voice.  
  
“But I want to,” she whispers with wide, pleading eyes. “I want to, Daddy.”  
  
“Fuck,” he mutters, desperation in his dark eyes. “Clarke, every time you say that, I . . .”  
  
“You what?”  
  
_“Please,_ Clarke.”  
  
“Take care of me, Daddy,” she whispers again. “You promised you would.”  
  
And then the last shred of Marcus Kane’s tenuous self-control snaps, his soft warm lips seizing hers so forcefully that she gives a muffled cry of stunned pleasure as his tongue sweeps hard and hungry into her mouth.  
  
She moans into him, practically swooning. It’s everything she wanted. He’s firm and assured and unapologetic, his arms still wrapped tightly around hers, and as he shifts his weight to lower her down against the mattress and blanket her body with his own, she feels the swell of his cock pressing sharply into her, and parts her thighs to take him between them, letting him settle comfortably against her breast.  
  
He kisses her for a long time, fierce and demanding, and she revels in the sensation of melting beneath him. She’s never been submissive in bed like this, not ever, not with anyone, but the feeling of being dominated by Marcus takes her breath away. And once he’s started, he doesn’t stop, doesn’t pull back or catch himself, doesn’t hesitate.  
  
“I just want to take care of you,” he whispers into her skin as he kisses his way from her mouth to her throat, and she nods wordlessly, her whole body screaming _Please._ “Just let me take care of you, baby girl. Let me make you feel good. Let me do everything.” He nuzzles deeply into the curve of her throat, licking a hot strip up the curve of her tendon, and she moans wildly at the sensation. “You’re so tired,” he whispers. “You carry so much weight. For all of us. Let me do this for you. Let me give you this.”  
  
“Daddy,” she whimpers, as he reaches down and tugs the panties off over her hips, casting them aside and cupping a warm hand over her cunt. “Daddy.”  
  
“I’ll make you feel safe,” he murmurs to her. “I’ll make you feel so good. I promise. I’ll take such good care of you.”  
  
“Yes,” she begs him, as his fingers part her folds and slowly dip inside. “Please. Please.”

He starts off so slow it’s almost torturous, and she greedily lifts her hips for more, more, more, but he doesn’t oblige her.  
  
“Harder,” she whines, and he chuckles low and warm against her skin.  
  
“No, baby girl,” he whispers, “Daddy’s in charge now. Just the way you want. And right now,” he murmurs, teasing her clit with one gentle fingertip until she squirms desperately beneath him, “Daddy wants to watch you let go.” He kisses her mouth, hard and hungry. “Close your eyes, and just feel,” he whispers. “Don’t rush it. Don’t think about what’s next. Just let everything go, and let me make you feel good.”  
  
“I can feel your cock,” she murmurs recklessly. “I know you want me. I know you’re ready now.”  
  
“I’ve been ready since the first night we shared a bed,” he confesses. “That doesn’t mean I’m going to rush it.”  
  
“Marcus, you can fuck me,” she says boldly, lifting his face to meet his eyes. “It’s okay. I want you to.”  
  
“Oh, I’m going to,” he tells her, in a low rumbling voice that’s almost a purr, making her cunt ache. “But I’m going to make you beg me for it a little bit first.” She bites her lip, pouting prettily, but he doesn’t fall for it, deliberately slowing his strokes between her legs until she’s quivering from head to toe. “You were a daddy’s girl, weren’t you?” he chuckles, nipping a row of light kisses up her throat. “Did that face work on him?”  
  
“All the time.”  
  
“I bet you had him wrapped around your little finger.”  
  
“I totally did.”  
  
“Let you get away with murder.”  
  
“Yup.”  
  
“Not your mother, though.”  
  
“No, she was always too smart for that,” Clarke retorts, earning an amused expression of recognition and agreement from Marcus. It pulls her up short, suddenly, and she reaches down between her thighs to still his hand, taking it in her own and pulling it away.  
  
“What is it?” he asks instantly.  
  
“Is this okay?” she whispers. “I mean, because of Mom. I don’t want to – you guys have – and you make her happy, I want her to be happy, I just –"  
  
She stops, and suddenly can’t look at him.  
  
“Clarke,” he murmurs, cupping her cheek with his warm hand. “It’s okay. We’ll all be okay. We both need this. We need each other. Especially right now. We’re all we have, until we get her back. Let me be this for you. Let me give you what you need.”  
  
“What do _you_ need?” she whispers, and the words out of his mouth that follow are so raw, so visceral, that they stun her into silence.  
  
“I need to fuck you until we both feel like ourselves again,” he whispers, and then his mouth captures hers again and neither of them says anything for a long, long time.

His mouth is hot and urgent on hers, the scratch of his beard shivery-sweet, his tongue demanding and forceful. She’s never been kissed like this. Finn was the only guy, really, aside from a handful of teenage dalliances on the Ark that never made it past the “heavy petting” phase, so there’s never been a _man,_ not really. And Marcus Kane is _definitely_ a man.  
  
He teases her cunt as he kisses her, his touches light, almost absentminded, tangling his fingers in the soft thatch of the damp golden hair between her thighs, his thumb gliding periodically over her clit and making her shiver. But when she lifts her hips, or moves towards him, pleading for more, he pulls his hand away, so she finds herself forced to do exactly what he wants her to do – submit to him entirely.  
  
And she does.  
  
He doesn’t let her come like this, pulling back from the brink every time she comes close, until she’s flushed and sweating and more than a little frustrated. Once she gets so close she can feel it beginning, and then Marcus pulls away entirely to tug off his shorts and shirt. But if she whines, or wheedles, or begs, he just smiles down at her wickedly and takes his hand away until she goes soft and obedient beneath his heavy body again.  
  
“Greedy little girl,” he chides her, nuzzling a rough kiss into her neck. “You have to learn how to let Daddy take control. I’m in charge now.”  
  
“Please,” she whimpers, “I’m so wet, I need it, I’m so close . . .”  
  
“You’re used to getting Daddy to give you anything you want,” he murmurs. “You had Jake Griffin in the palm of your hand. You were his princess. You wanted to kiss him like Mommy did. You probably thought you wanted to marry him, when you were little. You thought he was the only man you’d ever love.” He nips at her collarbone, making her shiver. “This was always your fantasy, wasn’t it, Clarke?” he breathes into her skin. “You always wanted Daddy to fuck you.”  
  
“Please,” she whimpers as his fingertips circle her clit, “please, please . . .”  
  
“Say it.”  
  
“I want you to fuck me, Daddy,” she gasps, “I need it, I need your cock, I need you to fuck me, _please –_ "  
  
But the last words trail off in a choked, startled cry as a huge, thick cock pushes inside her.  
  
He’s _huge,_ full and hot and heavy, and he stretches her open so hard that she feels tears at the corner of her eyes. He goes slow, just a few inches at a time, stroking her hair and kissing her forehead and murmuring “what a good girl,” but she can only take about half of him before he has to stop and let her breathe. “God, you’re tight,” he murmurs. “What a sweet little cunt you have. Been waiting for a daddy inside it all your life, haven’t you?”  
  
She can’t even speak anymore, just nods dumbly, gasping moans tumbling out of her lips, fingers clutching at his shoulders, his hair, his back, everywhere. It’s _so good._ She wants all of it. She can’t imagine how on earth it will all fit, but she’s willing to let him shatter her to find out.  
  
“Breathe, baby,” he whispers, pressing a soft kiss to her mouth, and then with a low grunt he pushes in further. She bites her lip to keep from screaming. No one’s ever been this deep inside her before. “You’re doing so good,” he tells her. “Taking that cock so good for Daddy. Hold onto me, I’m going to go in all the way.”  
  
“Daddy, it’s too much,” she whimpers, but he smiles and shakes his head.  
  
“You can do it, baby,” he tells her, “you can take all of Daddy. I’m going to make you come so hard.”  
  
And with a low, rasping groan, he lets go, pushing into her all the way, letting his warm weight descend entirely onto her soft, trembling body as she cries out over and over.

She’s so full she can’t move, but he doesn’t want her to. This is exactly how he wants her – soft and wide-eyed and whimpering with pleasure, gazing up at him in mute desperation as he buries himself so deep in her cunt that she feels like she’s being torn in half. He’s so thick she can feel every ridge and vein of him, pressing her inner walls open until the heavy weight of his balls press hard against the flesh of her cunt, and he can go no further.  
  
He’s dazed with pleasure at how hot and tight she is, how she opens up to draw him deeper without any resistance, how her pulsing little muscles clench at his cock and hold him greedily in place. “Let me take care of you, baby,” he whispers, kissing her forehead, as she puts her arms around him, fingers digging into his back, and yields completely, ready to be fucked.  
  
When he first begins to move, they’re both dumbstruck by how good it feels, and he’d planned to start slow but realizes he doesn’t have to. She adapts quickly, opening up and up to him, thighs clamping tight around his body, and it’s clear immediately that she wants it as hard, as rough, as urgent, as he does. But he stays with her, tender, attentive, even as his cock drives into her over and over again, making her scream. He caresses her face, presses kisses on her forehead, murmurs her name in soft reassuring tones that are almost lost in the wild slap of flesh on flesh.  
  
He fucks her and fucks her and fucks her until all she can say is “Daddy” and “yes” in different combinations, every other word lost entirely. Her whole body is pink and sheened with sweat, and the bounce of her sweet little tits as his cock slams into her gives him a wild, animal thrill. Impulsively, from time to time he pauses to bend down and take one in his mouth, sucking hard at the pert, rosy nipple until she squeaks with delighted pleasure. She makes the same sounds Abby does when he does this to her.  
  
When Clarke comes the first time, her whole back arches off the bed, and she fists his hair so hard he winces in pain-pleasure. They’re grateful no one else sleeps in this wing of the ship, so no one has to worry about being quiet. “More,” she begs him, “that was so good, Daddy, I need more, I need to come on your cock again.”  
  
“You’re so beautiful when you come,” he whispers, stroking tendrils of sweaty hair out of her face. “Daddy’s beautiful baby girl.”  
  
“I love you,” she gasps, eyes dazed, and he’s not sure who she’s saying it to – the dead father who looms so large in her dark, illicit fantasies, or the man who’s fucking her now to help her live that fantasy out – but he realizes it doesn’t matter, because his answer is the same either way.  
  
“I love you, Clarke,” he murmurs, gazing down at her with impossible affection in his eyes. “I love you. I love you.”  
  
“Take care of me, Daddy,” she begs him, and he does, letting his hips rise and fall against her again, but slower this time, gentle, purposeful, focused, their eyes locked onto each other. He slides one arm beneath her head, to cradle her in his embrace, and lets the other drift down to rub her clit. Her hands cradle his jaw, stroking the scruff of his beard.  
  
They stay like this for a long time, fucking deep and slow, gazing at each other, all speech replaced by soft low moans and sighs. Clarke’s muscles have gotten used to him by now, softened and relaxed to let him in comfortably, so it’s nothing but pleasure all the way.  
  
“Come inside me,” she whispers when she can feel him getting close, and he nods.  
  
“Of course, baby,” he murmurs, kissing her throat and shoulder. “Of course.”  
  
When he finally comes, with a heavy, low cry, a hot flood of white pouring forth inside her, his fingers pick up speed on her clit and bring her over the edge with him, shuddering and gasping. “Stay inside me,” she whispers as his hips buck and stutter against hers, over and over, every last drop of him draining out. “Stay with me, Daddy. Give me all of it.”  
  
“Anything for my baby,” he groans into her skin as he collapses against her, heavy and sated, and their bodies shudder to a halt.  
  
They fall asleep like that, wrapped in each other’s arms.  
  
Clarke dreams of her father, and wakes up happy, for the first time in longer than she can remember.


End file.
